Desire
by Dresden-Neville
Summary: AU. Slash. Sometimes you just can't help yourself, but one moment of happiness will not undo everything.


Just a short little one shot :) Between the first and second movie, AU, Slash.

**Desire**

The sharp point pierced his skin, and he inserted the needle into the ready vein. With a gentle push of his thumb the dose was administered. As it flooded into his body he felt at ease. His eyes blurred a bit, making it almost impossible to see the blazing fire in the fireplace a few feet in front of him. He carefully set the needle down on the table besides his chair and he leaned back. He got comfortable as he picked up his pipe and book. Striking a match, he took a few puffs. He felt the morphine flying through his system. The pressing invisible weight; foreign yet comforting at the same time…

_14 hours later_-

The door downstairs opened and closed with an abrupt bang. Voices floated through the quiet house. Light, but steady footsteps echoed on the stairs a few minutes later. There was a short pause before another door was opened. Light from the hallway broke through the darkness of the bedroom. A few moments went by and soon the room had light in it. The door was closed again. The man moved towards the chair near the fireplace.

Sherlock Holmes was sitting in the same position as he was earlier when John Watson put his hand on the detectives shoulder. He put his fingers to the man's wrist, checking his pulse. Without a word, Watson proceeded to pick up the needle, the bottle and walk over to the desk. He slid the objects back into their proper place in the black bag. With a little more force than necessary he threw the bag into a drawer and shut it. Watson remained at the desk until he was tired of being cold. The dying embers of the latest fire were just about gone as the doctor kneeled, poked and prodded, put a log on and got it started again. He put his hands out in front, trying to get some feeling back into them. Winter had settled in faster than he wanted.

He turned back to the figure on the chair. Holmes had his head resting on his chest. Watson knew Holmes was in a place of deep unconsciousness. The detectives' low heart rate told him that much. He stood up and glanced at the bed. It was cleaned off enough that Watson decided to move Holmes. He braced himself and heaved the man up and cradled him in his arms. The old wound twinged a bit as Watson made his way over to the bed, and nearly dropped Holmes onto it. The doctor winced as he set about putting the blankets on his friend, fixing the pillow and making sure Holmes was comfortable.

He left one lamp going as he settled down in the armchair he sat in most. For a few moments Watson sat there, his head against the back of the chair and his eyes closed. He listened to the crackle of the fire, feeling the warmth seep into his aging bones. Watson sighed as he relaxed more into the chair. He thought about the day, his patients, and the few he would have to see tomorrow. He gave a huge yawn as he wearily opened his eyes. He stole a look a Holmes; the man hadn't moved. He watched Holmes' chest rise and fall a bit too slow for his liking before he turned back to the fire. Watson blinked a few times trying to coax his eyes into staying open. He couldn't afford to fall asleep, Holmes might need him…

Holmes opened his eyes slowly. He had a hard time keeping them open. When they were opened the world around him was blurry. He felt like an elephant was sitting on his entire body. His stomach churned; he didn't even know his mouth was dry until it started to water. Holmes wasn't quite sure where he summoned the strength, but he rolled over and managed to stay on his side while he vomited. He gasped trying to catch his breath; his heart didn't seem to want to pump enough blood. He proceeded to dry heave. Suddenly he felt a rag at his mouth and an arm keeping him from falling over.

"Holmes," he heard Watsons voice softly in his ear, "I've got you. Just relax, concentrate on gaining control. You will faint if not, I'm afraid."

It took a few more minutes but slowly Holmes began to breathe normally again, his stomach had settled for the moment. Watson gently helped him lay back down comfortably. Holmes' eyes fluttered open and closed.

"Watson..." Holmes slurred out, " I'm..f..ine."

"I think I'll be the judge of that."

Watson put his fingers on Holmes' throat, checking the man's pulse. Still a bit too slow, but Watson figured Holmes was out of danger. He seemed to be drifting off so the doctor covered him back up. Just as he turned he felt a hand on his. He turned back to see Holmes looking at him with glassy eyes.

"You should sleep, Holmes."

Holmes just held his hand for a moment before letting his arm fall on the bed. He turned his head, but Watson wasn't fooled. He sat on the edge of the bed and with a gentle hand turned Holmes' face to look at him.

"Morphine? God man, what are you trying to do?"

Holmes just looked at him so Watson continued. "You do know you overdosed? If I hadn't come in you could've died! The cocaine is one thing Sherlock, but morphine?"

Holmes swallowed. "You called me..Sherlock."

Watson blinked a few times and looked away. "You've not called me that in a long time," Holmes continued.

Silence fell over the room. Watson heard the bed creak as he got up. He started walking to the chair he had fallen asleep in. Carriages outside on cobblestone streets could be heard, along with the pounding of horse hooves. Idle talk and laughter floated into the room as well. Watson could swear he heard the dog that was at least six roads away.

"John."

Watson jumped as if Holmes had shouted his name. Instead it had come out as a pathetic whisper from a man who was on his last leg. He turned around and it took every bit of will power not to run over there and promise Holmes that he could fix everything. That they could be together again and that the last few months were just a horrible nightmare; however he had indeed gotten married, settled down with his own practice and had become almost nonexistent in the detectives life.

"This isn't just my fault Holmes! Don't go blaming everything on me." Watson replied.

The doctor's tone cut through Holmes like a sword. He involuntarily flinched but he didn't drop his gaze on Watson. He could hear those words echoing inside his mind. Silence fell heavy on the room once more and Watson grabbed up his jacket and slammed the door behind him on the way out. Holmes turned his head toward the wall, his eyes falling from exhaustion. He was asleep in moments.

_A couple days later.._

Voices drifted up to his ears but Holmes kept plucking on his violin. He heard the familiar footsteps climbing the stairs and the door knob turned, the door creaking open. He continued on with the various notes as the door shut and he heard Watson pull his coat off and cross the room to walk in front of him. Holmes continued to stare out the window as Watson settled down in the chair across from him.

"Holmes.."

Though he didn't want to he couldn't help but to look into the doctors eyes. He saw a wide range of emotion, the nervous tension that rolled off the doctor, the faint bags under those eyes gave away the man's fatigue. Holmes felt this stirring in his conscience, one that he didn't feel very often; at least he pretended not to. Without hesitation Holmes dropped his violin just as Watson began to say something. The doctor didn't get very far before Holmes captured Watson's mouth with his own.

Watson began to back up, but Holmes grabbed the doctor's head holding Watson to him. They began to kiss passionately, like a hungered man who finally was given a meal. Watson's hands came up running through Holmes' hair. Holmes moaned a little, Watson kissing down from his lip to his neck. Holmes pulled Watson up.

"We should-"

"-head to the bed."

"Right."

Watson fell gently on Holmes, their hips grinding into each other's. Both men were already aroused and neither wasted any more time undressing. With every thrust and every moan both were lost to the touch and feel of the other man. Watson's fingers dug in his sides, but Holmes didn't mind. He felt the doctor getting close and when a few more well placed thrusts Watson came. Holmes did too and they lay down on the bed, gaining their breath back. Watson turned over first, raising himself on one arm. He leaned over kissing Holmes gently, cupping the detective's face.

"I have missed you greatly, Sherlock."

Holmes grabbed the hand cupping his face. He leaned up with Watson meeting him halfway and they shared a long parting kiss. Both of them dressed silently and as Watson put his coat on Holmes walked over to his violin. Watson walked out the door, closing it softly behind him. Holmes knew it would be a long time before Watson made another appearance, but he felt rather certain that this wouldn't be the last time and his pain was quickly replaced by a glimmer of hope.

He began plucking a few tunes as he pondered his next case.


End file.
